


You’re a Chameleon— I Never Know What You’ll Be Next

by battoff



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Abuse, Internalized Biphobia, Mention of Panic Attacks, Trans Character, Trans Jeremy Heere, Trans Male Character, Unreliable Narrator, canon-typical abuse, if you need me to tag anything just tell me, only slightly tho, take a shot for every reference to phantom pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-10 16:26:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12915708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battoff/pseuds/battoff
Summary: Requests areopenclosed! Anyone who has sent in a prompt before requests were closed will still have a chapter written for them.





	1. Open RP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not an actual role play as the title would suggest.

_This isn’t an actual chapter. This is a request page. I’m basically trying to write as much as I can for Be More Chill because I love it so much but sometimes I feel like I’m doing the same stuff over and over again. This work will just be compiled of various requests from y’all and I’ll try my best to write them. Please comment with what you want me to write. I really appreciate this._

_I feel it’s worth mentioning that I will write AUs upon request and various “what if” scenarios. However, I won’t do anymore_ Michael In The Bathroom _prompts unless it particularly intrigues me. Still send in prompts, there’s always the possibility that I’ll do them but if I deny it I’ll link you to another chapter that might fit the bill. Thanks for coming to my_ TED Talk _._

**_UPDATE:_ ** _If any of you were wondering, I am writing your requests. I don’t reply initially but I’ll let you know as soon as it’s posted. If I don’t plan on writing something for your prompt I will reply as soon as possible. I also am willing to write certain ships._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Last update was 06 December 2017.**


	2. Speak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter was provided by Jules on _[Open RP](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12915708/chapters/29510409)_. Big thanks for being the first one to comment on this work. I appreciate it immensely and I hope you enjoy this.

Rich never really noticed how little he knows about himself. The notion hits him square in the teeth as Jake stares, waiting for a reply.

“C’mon dude. What movie do you wanna watch?”

It’s an easy decision. Surely. Definitely. It’s between _Moana_ and _The Way He Looks_. It all depends on what he likes. What _does_ he like?

His palms begin to perspire as the films’ thumbnails burn their basic shapes into his corneas. Their images show up negative behind his eyelids whenever he blinks. He needs to choose. Why can’t he just choose?

_Moana_ is extremely feminine. Jake will probably laugh at him and call him gay. Does he even want to watch it? He doesn’t know. But fear sends chills down his spine.

_The Way He Looks_ is a gay foreign film. He’ll think Rich is pretentious and _gay_ for picking that.

He isn’t gay he isn’t gay he isn’t gay he isn’t—

“Richie?”

He hadn’t noticed he had his eyes squeezed shut the entire time. As soon as he opens them Jake fills his vision. His expression is unreadable but there’s no doubt in Rich’s mind that he’s judging him. He has to. Why wouldn’t he?

“I don’t care. You pick.”

They end up watching _Moana_. It’s interesting.

...

Brooke nudges him during lunch sometime later on in the week. He’s ready to tell her off because her elbows are sharp but one glance tells him to look somewhere else. He follows her gaze to a corner of the cafeteria where someone is standing, watching him. It makes him break out into a cold sweat. She pushes him to walk over to them so he does.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

It’s awkward and quiet and his hands are way too clammy. Why are they so clammy? They were never this bad before. He puts his hands in his front pockets to casually wipe them off.

They smile at him. “You’re Rick, right?”

“Rich.”

“Right. Lovely weather we’re having.”

That’s ridiculous. Completely, absolutely ridiculous. Who even talks about the weather anymore? Who can even respond to that without a smartass remark? He waits for a response to spill easily from his lips, changing the conversation to something less awkward while simultaneously intriguing them.

Nothing comes. The stranger shifts in place before saying something about getting to class early. Rich can do nothing but gape like a fish as they walk away. The stares of his friends irritate his burns.

He skips the rest of the day.

...

Paul Goranski, Rich’s father, hasn’t made many appearances since before the summer of sophomore year. But this morning he’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs. There’s a belt in his hand that stills Rich from where he is on the fourth step.

“You ungrateful little bastard.” His words are slurred. The stench of cheap liquor oozes out of him, enough to make Rich a little tipsy. “You think you can skip school, miss out on the education that _I_ bought with _my_ tax dollars?” He stumbles over himself as he reaches out for his son.

Rich is too late to scramble up the stairs, away from him, and is caught in his grasp. He searches for soothing words that’ll appease Paul. “ _You_? With _what_ tax dollars?” Wait. That doesn’t sound right.

He sees stars immediately after the comment slips out. He tastes carpet and iron as Paul goes to town on him.

How did he avoid this before?

...

The old man tires around six o’clock, collapsing atop his son. Paul’s dead weight is entirely pressed against Rich as he listens to heavy snores fill the house. He manages to get out from under the mass of drunken flesh and grabs an emergency backpack from the hallway closet Paul never checks. Limping out of the house, it takes him half an hour to reach Jeremy’s when it should’ve taken him ten minutes.

He’s pretty sure he almost scares Jeremy into an early grave when the door opens. Shaking hands, damp with perspiration, guide him to the couch. Jeremy’s gone in an instant but returns just as fast with a bag of frozen peas. There’s a quiet apology muttered between them. Something about there being no ice packs in the freezer.

“What happened?”

He wants to say something indifferent. Wants to be aloof, to be unaffected by anything and everything. “Paul beat me ‘cause I skipped.” Tears prick at the back of his eyes but they won’t fall. He really wants them to. It’ll probably make him feel better but phantom pain shoots down his vertebrae, spreading to his ribs, and finishing in his feet like a circuit grounding out.

“I’m sorry Rich.” Jeremy reaches out, stops, hesitates. A lump grows in Rich’s throat. “Can I touch you?”

For the longest time he doesn’t know what to say. His mouth opens and closes without a single idea of how to respond. His body trembles under his friend’s scrutiny. Who is he kidding? They’re not friends. No one likes him, can tolerate him— how can they? He’s not Rich. He never was, is, or ever will be. He’s just Richard Goranski, the nerd that no one remembers.

“I’m right back to where I started with no friends, nobody, nothing, alone—!”

Lanky arms pull him into a tight embrace. Jeremy’s shaking like a leaf but he’s not much better. “You’re not alone, Rich. I’m right here. I’ll always be here. For you, just for you. Because you’re my friend and I love you, okay?” He can’t speak, his voice is caught in throat, so he shakes his head. “I do. I love you so much, Rich.” Jeremy leans back so he’s in Rich’s field of vision, his hand pressing against the back of his neck. The firm pressure against his marred flesh sparks warmth in him. Tears flood his cheeks like a dam has been opened. Jeremy holds his face in his sweaty hands that tremble with the weight of it all but it doesn’t bother him as much as it should. “You don’t have to be better right away. Stuff like this, it takes time. But I’ll be by your side, waiting. Even if it takes years. Even if it never happens. I’ll be here.”

The statement does nothing to soothe his tears. It doesn’t make everything magically better. It doesn’t make the lump lodged in his throat go away or the bruising on his hips disappear. It doesn’t get rid of his burns or the phantom pain of electrocution. But something in his brain switches. Like some sort of _ON_ button that makes the prospect of replying not invoke such a suicidal reaction.

All that fills the room is the sound of his sobs and a silent thanks nearly washed away by his tears. Except Jeremy says it’s no problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want me to write something specific be sure to comment the prompt on any of the posted chapters and I’ll get to it :)


	3. After Everything That Happened, Let Me Have This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will win? Numerous scenes, dialogue, and a song with near complete development of a character or one (1) panic attack?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter was provided by [StormBerryMC](http://archiveofourown.org/users/StormBerryMC) on _[Open RP](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12915708/chapters/29510409)_. Thank you for sending in a prompt.

Jeremy is out of breath. He can’t decide whether it’s because he’s still feeling the effects of running while wearing his binder or his anxiety has hiked up from telling ~~his best friend~~ Michael off. He moves away from the bathroom on shaky legs. For a brief moment he wonders if this is what newborn deer feel like. Then he becomes too lightheaded to go any further so he leans against the wall. 

He needs to sit down. 

Everything is too warm and loud and uncomfortable. He can still hear the faint sound of Chloe pretending to seduce him and Jake cursing his Peach Schnapps and his own voice calling Michael a loser. Thinking of Jake’s parents’ bedroom has him feeling Chloe’s perfectly manicured nails scratching at his arms, her unnecessarily large diaper pressed against his crotch, her hands on his _chest_ — 

He _really_ needs to sit down. 

There’s pounding on the bathroom door. When he turns to look Jenna’s face is set in an angry scowl. 

“Hello! Other people have to pee!” 

“I’m having my period,” is the muffled response. 

A beat. 

“Take your time, honey.” 

Jenna leaves. Jeremy moves back to the door because that response is concerning. A blatant lie. If anything, he’s pretty sure Michael copied it off of him. His forehead, chilly from the air passing over the sweat that accumulated there, presses against the wood. He tries to call out but his voice is a mere croak that dies in his throat. There’s a muted voice coming from the other side. 

_I am hanging in the bathroom at the biggest party of the fall_   
_I could stay right here or disappear, and nobody'd even notice at all_

Michael pauses as if he realized how odd his situation is. 

_I'm a creeper in a bathroom 'cause my buddy kinda left me alone_   
_But I'd rather fake pee than stand awkwardly, or pretend to check a text on my phone_

Jeremy can hear a choked breath. Is he about to cry? 

_Everything felt fine when I was half of a pair_   
_Now through no fault of mine, there's no other half there_   
_Now I'm just Michael in the bathroom, Michael in the bathroom, at a party_   
_Forget how long it's been_   
_I'm just Michael in the bathroom, Michael in the bathroom at a party_

He timidly knocks. Maybe he can apologize. He knows what Michael sounds like when he’s about to have a panic attack and this is all too familiar. 

_No you can't come in!_   
_I'm waiting it out 'til it's time to leave_   
_And picking at grout as I softly grieve_   
_I'm just Michael who you don't know, Michael flyin' solo, Michael in the bathroom by himself_   
_All by himself_   
_I am hiding, but he's out there, just ignoring all our history_   
_Memories get erased, and I'll get replaced, with a newer, cooler version of me_   
_And I hear a drunk girl sing along to Whitney through the door— I wanna dance with somebody!_   
_And my feelings sink, 'cause it makes me think: now there's no one to make fun of drunk girls with anymore!_   
_Now it's just Michael in the bathroom, Michael in the bathroom at a party_   
_I half regret the beers_   
_Michael in the bathroom, Michael in the bathroom at a party_   
_As I choke back the tears_   
_I'll wait as long as I need, until my face is dry_   
_Or I'll just blame it on weed, or something in my eye!_   
_I'm just Michael who you don't know, Michael flyin' solo_   
_Michael in the bathroom by himself!_

Michael’s hyperventilating. He’s definitely hyperventilating. Or maybe it’s just Jeremy who’s hyperventilating. 

“Fuck.” The word feels numb in his mouth. He feels numb. He pounds on the door. 

_**Knock, knock, knock, knock**_   
_They're gonna start to shout soon_   
_**Knock, knock, knock, knock**_   
_Oh hell yeah, I'll be out soon_   
_**Knock, knock, knock, knock**_   
_It sucks you left me here alone—_   
_**Knock, knock, knock, knock**_   
_Here in this teenage battlezone—_

Something crashes against a hollow object. 

_**Clang, clang, clang, clang**_   
_I feel the pressure blowing up—_

Bruises are sure to form from how hard he’s throwing himself at the door. 

_**Bang, bang, bang, bang**_   
_My big mistake was showing up—_

The faucet runs as Jeremy reaches for the doorknob. He goes to mess with the lock but a strong shock passes through his spine down to his feet, sending him to his knees. 

_**Splash, splash, splash, splash**_   
_I throw some water in my face_   
_And I am in a better place_   
_I go to open up the door_   
_But I can't hear knocking_   
_Anymore_

_Hello Jeremy._

_‘Oh, not now. Go away. Go away. I’ll drink again if you don’t go away.’_

Another shock. 

_We both know that’s not true. I have full access to your thoughts and you_ hate _alcohol. I wonder why. No matter. I’m back and you can stop that silly repetition. It’s annoying._

He really doesn’t want to listen to the SQUIP but it never goes away when he asks it to. Not after he upgraded and made it so proud. It’s never been as kind as it was that day. But that was then and this is now and he’s incredibly tempted to drink some of the Peach Schnapps that are downstairs. Although, he knows he’ll just throw it back up again, the space where the bottle teat pressed against his lips still burning. Plus he’s sure the SQUIP will control his body for the remainder of the party anyhow. 

_Oh my._

_‘What?’_

_We need to get you home._

There’s still a vague murmur of Michael’s voice that makes Jeremy crawl towards the bathroom. 

_‘But—’_

_ Now.  _

He wants to stay, to hug Michael, give him comfort, to apologize, but his body is deadweight as the SQUIP takes over. It walks him down the stairs, past Rich who’s leaving a mess in the kitchen, and out the door. He wakes up at home with its voice whispering about his peers. How they’re worse off than him and he should be grateful to have a SQUIP. 

He doesn’t bother to mention that if it weren’t for the SQUIP he wouldn’t have fucked up his friendship with Michael. Phantom pain stops him. He’ll save it for another day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note for anyone who wants to put in a request: this is one of the few times, if not the only time, I will write a _Michael In The Bathroom_ fic. I’ll do ‘what if’ requests and prompts anytime of the day but that song is completely overdone. 
> 
> I love it, don’t get it twisted. And I’m glad that they’re displaying some mental health issues in the musical but Michael is so much more than this one panic attack. He has multiple songs that display his character development _way_ better than _Michael In The Bathroom_ ever will (an example is _The Pants Song_ ). Not to mention y’all get it twisted and make Jeremy out to be the villain when the only reason he said what he did was because 1.) classical conditioning the SQUIP subjected him to made him defend it no matter what and 2.) he had just been sexually harassed while being forced to drink. 
> 
> Anyways, I responded to this prompt to give my two cents about it and [StormBerryMC](http://archiveofourown.org/users/StormBerryMC) didn’t know how I felt on the matter so I felt it was unfair to ignore their prompt. Thank you for listening and respecting my wishes. Have a nice day.


	4. Seeing Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jeremy never_ did _learn how to combat classical conditioning. It never seemed a problem back then._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter was provided by Rainbow Mooncat on _[Open RP](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12915708/chapters/29510409)_. I really enjoyed this request! I love writing the effect that the SQUIP has on Jeremy and the others.

I’m stupid stupid stupid— 

_Okay maybe don’t try to hit yourself in public or people will think you’re—_

I nearly walk into a pole. 

_Focus, you freak._

I forgot that I’m not supposed to take my anxiety meds. My SQUIP said it messes up with its functionality or whatever. I didn’t care enough to pay much attention at the time. I regret it now that I don’t have Keanu Reeves’s shitty automated voice telling me how to do stuff. 

How was I supposed to know it’d shut off just from me taking my meds? It’s just part of my routine. You see I did it everyday for so long. Old habits die hard I guess. But now I’m scared. What if the SQUIP is gone for good? How am I supposed speak to people, do my schoolwork, remember to ~~eat~~ work out? How am I supposed to function? 

I need to stop repeating my words. It’s annoying. I can’t help it, though. 

_That’s quitter talk._

G-d, I hope the SQUIP isn’t gone for good. I have a test in math tomorrow. 

...

I almost have an anxiety attack on the way to school. I haven’t had one in a while. I don’t miss them. I think the SQUIP suppressed some of my symptoms because I’m more anxious and sweaty than I’ve been for the past two months. 

But, other than that incident, nothing really happens. I pass the double door entrance and see Michael. He’s got his hood up, headphones covering his ears, head down. I feel guilt biting at my innards but something entirely different overrides my initial thought of talking to him. 

_He’s a link to Jeremy 1.0. You’ve upgraded. You’ve been doing so well. Wouldn’t want to waste all this progress._

I nod to myself and head to homeroom. 

...

Michael has third and fourth period chemistry. _I_ have third and fourth period chemistry. He sits in the upper rightmost bench, the one in the back that’s next to the window and outlets. I used to sit on his right side but I vaguely remember the SQUIP helping me convince Ms. Figueroa, the rude chemistry teacher who’s caused me more breakdowns than anyone else, to move me next to Jake Dillinger who sits in the first bench. It’s also close to the windows and outlets and I sit to his right. 

Whatever. Who cares? I’m talking about Michael. Michael Michael Michael. Michael whose face is screwed up like he’s about to cry in the middle of class. I wouldn’t put it past him. Half the students in here have cried in this room. His eyes look over the rim of his glasses in my direction. Our gazes meet and I have a hard time sitting down without going over to comfort him. The feeling from before comes over me, though, reasoning with me. 

_It’s better this way._

I agree. 

...

Lunch comes around. I walk to the cafeteria with Jake. We have first lunch together. So does Rich, Brooke, Chloe, and Jenna. We all sit at the same table. Christine watches from a distance. I wish she would sit with us but she’s too shy because Jake is sitting next to me. 

Rich has school lunch. The waxy cheese that peeks out from between two slices of white bread smears across the skin surrounding his mouth. He says the school’s lunch is nasty. He wolfs it down anyways. 

Jenna brought her own lunch. It’s in a paper bag which is kinda cliché but who cares? She doesn’t touch it. 

Brooke also brought her own food. It’s something she can actually eat because she’s a vegetarian apparently. I think she said it’s because all animals are sacred or whatever. She’s actually pretty religious. It’s weird. I never expected it. 

Chloe eats half of a salad from the deli line. She complains there’s nothing else that’s good. “Even then,” she says, “this shit is disgusting.” 

Jake eats nothing. 

I want to mention it but the SQUIP shocked me the last time I tried. Instead, I look around the crowded cafeteria. People are running around like madmen and it’s obvious that half of the student body isn’t wearing deodorant. 

During my sweep I spot Michael sitting at his table alone. Nobody’s in his general vicinity. That’s why he chose it freshman year. No one sat at that table so he claimed it. 

He has his slushie and an empty container of sushi. I wonder what he got today. His headphones are still on. He’s probably listening to Bob Marley. Scratch that. He’s definitely listening to Bob Marley. His gaze shoots to my table every other minute. I timed it. I look down every time. 

I don’t eat lunch. 

...

I walk home after school. Jake offered me a ride before I left but I reminded him that it’s Brooke’s mom’s car, not his, and that it wasn’t his place to offer me anything. I must have been real short with him because he laughed this stiff laugh and said he was glad I was gaining some more moxie. 

Halfway home I notice a dingy PT Cruiser trailing about a hundred feet behind me. I almost have a panic attack because someone’s about to kidnap me but I recognize the fuzzy dice dangling from the mirror between the two front seats. Michael’s following me. I don’t know how to feel about that. I find myself turning my head a little every so often to be able to watch him out of my peripheral vision. 

Three-quarters of the way through the walk his car speeds up so that he’s right by my side. His passenger side window still creaks when it’s rolled down. He calls out to me. He begs me to talk to him. He asks if he did something wrong. He tells me he’s sorry for whatever he did. He says he’ll never do it again if I tell him what it is that he did. 

I turn onto the path leading up to my porch and close the door without sparing him a glance. As the lock clicks I collapse to the ground in sobs. 

_Pathetic._

My tears dry quickly. 

...

When I wake up the next morning—06:30 on the dot—the SQUIP is sitting on my desk chair. It’s staring at some floating screens projecting videos. I ask it what it’s doing. Reviewing the data from yesterday, it says. Once it’s done the screens disappear. 

“Was it my meds?” 

_Yes._

“I’m sorry. I forgot I’m not supposed to take them. I’m sorry—” 

_There’s no need to apologize... twice. Besides, you did well yesterday. Even if you went through it by yourself._

“I did?” 

_Yes. I’m very proud of you, Jeremy. You’re making great progress. Now, let’s start the day. Shall we?_

I get ready without complaining. I’m too busy basking in the praise it gave me to be bothered by how tired I am or how Michael and everything concerning him will be ingrained in my brain until I forget it again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going for a style similar to how the BMC book is written (which I’ve only seen pictures of) except ~~hopefully~~ less awkward. Also, I headcanon Brooke as Muslim and Black. In case any of y’all were wondering. I have headcanons for the others as well which is how I always write them so if you’re interested holler.


	5. Cooler Than a Vintage Cassette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Michael is trying. He may not understand half of the shit that’s going on but fuck if he isn’t trying his damned hardest._
> 
> _~~[Alternate chapter summary.](https://m.imgur.com/fwMMBoR) ~~ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter was provided by [Alicorniansheepyllama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicorniansheepyllama/pseuds/alicorniansheepyllama) on _[Open RP](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12915708/chapters/29510409)_. Thank you for sending in a prompt and generally being a swell person to talk to.

Before the SQUIP, Michael felt like he understood Jeremy better than he did himself. He got what made Jeremy tick and fidget and squirm. He knew what made him uncomfortable and what made him upset and what made him so unbelievably happy. He didn’t have to think much when he was with Jeremy because being around his best friend was like second nature to him. It’s a different case now, though, after the SQUIP. 

After the play, when Jeremy returns to school, Michael feels like that one episode of _SpongeBob SquarePants_ where SpongeBob can’t understand Mr. Krabs while he’s trying to woo Mrs. Puff. Specifically, the part when SpongeBob starts mimicking something Mr. Krabs said earlier on in the episode. 

Sometimes, when Michael feels particularly exasperated because of one of Jeremy’s post-SQUIP moods, he mutters to himself, “we’re not talking about _this_. Or _this_. We’re talking about _this_ ,” followed by extreme finger movements as to release some anger but not attract too much attention to himself. 

He doesn’t mean to get so annoyed by Jeremy, he really doesn’t. If anything he’s more upset with himself because he can’t help his best friend. All he wants to do is make things better for Jeremy. It’s just that Jeremy won’t talk. He won’t tell Michael about what happened from September to March. He won’t talk about the SQUIP much or anything relating to it. The most that had happened since the squipcident was when he said sorry to Michael to make up for the shitty apology forced out of him during the play. 

One day Michael tried asking Rich about the SQUIP and why Jeremy refuses to talk about it but Rich denied him, too. “That’s his story to tell, my dude,” Rich had said. Then he offered Michael a slushie so he was obviously thoroughly distracted. 

However, Jeremy continues to confuse him. Jeremy is nowhere near the same as before. He’s friends with the others who were squipped during the play, creating an odd sort of friend group that he bullied Michael into joining, too. But that isn’t really the problem. No, Michael has a problem with the way Jeremy would walk into school some days, having ignored all of his texts that offered him a ride, fully decked out in terribly gaudy clothes, and a gait so pompous and full of swagger that everyone would stare. 

Nobody can speak to him those days. He shuts himself out from strangers, teachers, friends. He simply keeps a large grin on his face until he makes whoever’s talking to him so uncomfortable that they’re forced to leave. It’s not that he’s too “cool” for them. No, it can’t possibly be that because Michael watches Jeremy’s encounters. Has seen how Jeremy quakes under people’s hounding and gazes. How his eyes flutter to different exits no matter where he is. How he keeps his distance from everyone else. Then, there’s always something that sets him off, usually the questions get to him, and he’s gone, slamming a slip of paper on the teacher’s desk before storming out of the room. 

Normally, no one hears from him for the rest of the day. If it’s the weekend they’re lucky if they hear something by Sunday but most understand that he probably won’t speak to them until Monday morning in school. 

Other days, Jeremy’s extremely paranoid, curled in on himself like he’s expecting something bad to happen. He whips around if someone walks behind him, eyes wide like he’s seen a ghost. He avoids crowds no matter how small, his hands twitching like he’s resisting the urge to cover his ears. In the beginning, his nails would scratch angry red lines on his arms before he found that that attracted too much attention. Then, Michael noticed, Jeremy started picking at his fingernails. 

It hurts Michael to watch his best friend go through whatever it is that’s troubling him but it feels like he can’t do anything. 

He actually ends up mentioning it during a therapy session, Dr. Hill sat on his comfy swivel chair while Michael lays back on the couch. Michael tells him all the things he’s noticed about Jeremy in the past month. His habits, tics, his new obsession with his fingernails. Michael goes on and on until his breath leaves him but he keeps speaking anyways. 

“Be there for him,” is basically the meat of Dr. Hill’s response. 

Michael is unamused. 

...

The next day is quite something. It might be because it had rained last night, a storm passing over Middleborough. It might be because electricity is practically humming in everyone’s headphones. It might be because the students in the halls are chattering excitedly about some football game this weekend. The reason doesn’t really matter. Not when Michael has an almost out of body experience as he notices the signs for once. 

He spots the slight tremble of Jeremy’s hands as he picks at his cuticles, catches how often he turns to look at his surroundings, sees all the blood drain from his face. Michael moves as slow as possible, tapping his hands to gain his attention. He doesn’t lift his head but that does nothing to stop Michael from asking if he wants to leave. The moment he nods he’s led away from the school, towards the P.T. Cruiser. 

...

The house is silent as they pass through the front door. Going downstairs to the basement, they don’t say a word. Michael closes the basement door and leans against it. Jeremy stands a ways away simply shaking like a leaf. Michael takes two steps forward to reach him. His immediate thought is to grab his hands but, instead, he hesitates. 

“Can I touch you?” 

The question shocks them both. It’s like a trance has been broken between the two of them. Michael bites his lip, effectively stopping himself from taking the question back. Jeremy peers up at him through his lashes and he’s never seen something so pitiful. Nodding, he accepts Michael’s embrace. He stands still for a minute then slowly raises his arms to wrap around his best friend’s waist. Michael can feel how Jeremy’s fingers dig into his skin maybe a little too harshly but he doesn’t mention it. This is the closest he’s gotten to Jeremy in months. 

So if Jeremy leaves wet marks on his hoodie and neck he doesn’t mention it. Nor does he say anything about the bruises that are most likely forming on his waist. He just holds Jeremy like his life depends on it because this is his best friend and he would do anything to make this kid happy again. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you apologizing right now?” 

“I’m a terrible friend. I don’t deserve you. You’re skipping for me, missing work for me, not talking to your friends for me—” 

“Our friends, Jere. They’re our friends. Not just mine. And none of that matters. You needed someone and I would skip any day if it meant it was gonna help you.” 

Nothing’s said immediately after that. Minutes pass before Jeremy starts again. “I don’t get why you still like me. Everything about me is so terrible—” 

“Wait, what? Jere, you’re not—” 

Michael is shoved back as Jeremy grabs at his own hair. “Everything about me makes me wanna _die_ —!” 

“Jere, you’re not terrible! You’re,” Michael pauses to think, “wonderful. Everything about you is so wonderful—” 

“Everything about me sucks—” 

“Everything about you rocks—” 

“Everyone thinks I’m a fucking slob—” 

“Jere, nobody thinks that—” 

“ _Everyone_ thinks that! It told me so. It wouldn’t lie to me, Michael. It never lied to me. I was an ungrateful little bastard. I was rude, terrible, I’m the worst person in the world—!” 

“Who are you even talking about, Jere? Please. I wanna help you.” There’s a dip, a fall in their conversation. Jeremy stands there with an extremely nauseous expression. Michael reaches out again and holds his face. “Whoever they are, they’re a filthy liar if they told you all those things. And I will tell you the truth every single day until you believe me.” 

His gaze falls to the floor. “What if I never believe you?” 

“Then I won’t stop until I’m dead or worse.” 

They stay like that for what feels like forever. Michael holding Jeremy like he’s the most precious thing in the world and him feeling like anything but. 

“Why?” 

“Why?” He nods. “Because you’re my best friend, Jere. I love you and I want you to be happy. I want you to wake up everyday and know that there are people out there who think the world of you.” He looks like he wants to say something probably self-deprecating but he keeps his mouth closed. Michael taps his chin. “Hey, never feel like you can’t talk to me, okay?” 

Jeremy shifts from one foot to another, nods, and pulls Michael into a hug. “You know, I might not ever get better.” 

“I know,” Michael replies, “but I’ll stand by you no matter what. Through thick and thin.” 

“Thank you.” 

And, for the first time in months, Michael feels as if some progress is made. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is a bit choppy. Feel free to leave some constructive criticism in the comments. Especially if you’re [Alicorniansheepyllama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicorniansheepyllama/pseuds/alicorniansheepyllama) since you _did_ give me this prompt. 
> 
> ~~Also, I swear I’m writing all of your prompts I’ve just been busy with school!~~


	6. Weak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter was provided by Riend Boyf on _[Open RP](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12915708/chapters/29510409)_. Sorry it took so long but I hope it was worth the wait.

Ms. Figueroa stands at the front of the class, writing pairs of names on the whiteboard. She says we have a small project due tomorrow. No late exceptions. It’s a week before the play premieres. 

I don’t need this right now. 

I notice Michael’s name is listed next to mine. 

I _really_ don’t need this right now. 

Jake gives me a harsh slap on the shoulder. A dude thing, I think. And walks over to Dustin Kropp. Michael shuffles his way to my bench. 

It’s kinda pathetic how he does it. He looks like an old man wearing slippers. Or a dog who’s been denied a treat and has its tail between its legs. An image of my dad briefly flashes before my eyes. He sits down next to me and I can’t help but notice how his face is blurry. 

_‘Are you doing that?’_

_You have to at least be able to see his person during this project._

_‘How nice of you.’_

The SQUIP must not have liked my tone because it electrocutes me. I don’t say anything else. 

...

We made plans to meet at his house instead of mine. I’d rather not deal with my dad’s white briefs right now. 

Michael’s house is empty when I get there. He says we can work in the living room. Well, it’s more like he grunts in that direction and I make my own assumptions. I have to say, he’s taking things a lot better than I expected. He leaves me on the couch before going to the kitchen. 

_‘Where are his moms?’_

The SQUIP doesn’t reply. It's probably blocking them then. I don’t really get why, though. Michael’s moms are cool. His Nanay has her own business, a construction company, and his Mami is a college professor. They’re constantly in and out of the state because of their jobs and have visited multiple countries. What’s _not_ cool about them? 

A particularly harsh spark goes through my system, grounding out at my feet. I decide not to dwell on the Mells anymore. 

Michael comes back with a bag of chips and some drinks. He sets them down on the coffee table. We get to work on the project. Something about writing a powerpoint to describe the different types of chemical bonds. It’s stupid. I tell Michael as such and he kinda looks at me for a minute. I can’t really tell why because his face is too blurry. 

“Yeah,” he starts slowly after a while, “it’s stupid.” 

_Stop talking to him._

_‘It’s about the project. What’s so wrong?’_

Another shock. 

At this point the electrocution is annoying me just as much as it is hurting me. I pointedly turn more towards Michael. “You know what else is stupid? Ms. Figueroa.” 

“You could say that again.” 

“Like, who assigns a freaking chemical bonds project?” 

_Jeremy... If this is going to work, you need to do as I instruct._

I ignore it. This is the most fun I’ve had in months. No offense to Jake and Brooke and Chloe and Rich (especially Rich) but there’s something easier, more natural, about holding a conversation with Michael. 

He snorts, a noise that I didn’t notice I missed until now. “Oh, yeah. She doesn’t have any teaching experience with actual students.” 

“Oh, my God, don’t even get me started! She treats us like kids just ‘cause we’re not college students obsessed with chemistry.” I groan, leaning forward to rest my forehead against Michael’s shoulder. We laugh for what feels like hours and I swear that in this moment we loved each other again. 

Then, as if solely to make a jab at me, electricity racks my bones. I feel it in my fingertips and on my tongue. The force of it sends me sitting up straight. Michael stares at me. 

“You good, Miah?” 

I go to say that I’m fine, I simply got a sudden pain in my back, but my mouth doesn’t move quite right. It twists up in a grin that sits unfamiliarly on my face. Out of the corner of my eye stands the glitchy form of shitty Keanu Reeves. 

“No. I’m not. I’d rather not be here at all but I’m not going to stoop so low as to get a bad grade just because you suck.” 

_‘What?’_

“What?” 

Michael sounds hurt. It reminds me too much of when I upgraded. I want this to stop. 

_‘SQUIP, stop. I promise I’ll listen this time. I won’t mess around with Michael but, please, stop.’_

_No. You can’t just_ listen _you have to_ obey _. I suppose you’ll have to learn the hard way._

...

When I finally get home it’s dark out. Dad’s snoring can be heard from where I’m sat against the front door. I feel bad. Everything is bad. But, I guess, in the end it was all my own fault. 

If I had only focused on the project, nothing else, then the SQUIP wouldn’t have had to take over and fix my mistakes. It wouldn’t have had to hurt Michael’s feelings for a third time. Neither of them would have been so burdened. I’m awful. 

“Hey, SQUIP?” 

The familiar green glow follows Keanu Reeves’s apparition. 

_Yes?_

I don’t bother to lift my head up. I’m gross. I look terrible. No one should have to see me right now. 

“I’m sorry.” 

_Whatever for, Jeremy?_

“I disobeyed you. I know you’re trying your best to make me chill and help me get Christine but I’m messing everything up.” 

_Jeremy, look at me._

The SQUIP is crouched down in front of me. It has a smile on its weird green face. 

_Everything will be fine. Leave it all to me. I know best._

I nod because it’s not wrong. It knows best. I’m just a stupid nerd who can’t even talk to someone without having a breakdown. I’d be lost without the SQUIP. I need to stop being ungrateful and stop giving into the temptation of old habits. Michael isn’t my life anymore. Michael isn’t my friend anymore. Michael deserves better and so much more. 

Electricity rushes through me one final time, sending me to bed without another thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like writing stuff from Jeremy’s perspective in first person way too much. I must be stopped. 
> 
> **Edit:** Hi pals! Just wanted to let y’all know that [Alicorniansheepyllama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicorniansheepyllama/pseuds/alicorniansheepyllama) has made a work based on this one shot. It’s really good you better check it out. It’s called [The Project](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13252527/chapters/30316236).


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